On this very slow journey towards a professional and domestic setup that would finally match my mental blueprint for life I will share frontline reports. Why? Cause without output my system overloads and I end up rolling over the ground hitting my own forehead with my fists till I bleed, screaming like a wild animal stuck in razor sharp bear trap. Yes, this has happened and ever since I can’t shake off the impression that the neighbours, already deeply afraid on account of being Slovak, fear me. In my rather innocent self-aggrandizing inner world I imagine am like a kind of Custer sitting down to write field notes while out hunting for Sioux natives. Not much has changed since I turned five years old. Except that, yes, of course I am quite as nuts as Custer, but am out hunting for people still able to receive aliveness. People still permeable (one of my new favorite words).

So what do we have here? A pic where I weigh two pizza slices. I fanatically count how much I eat. A pic of a card with quiz questions. I sometimes either translate Slovak quiz questions in conversation classes to English, German, French or Dutch or – rarer – I make the client do it. They aren’t actually students, cause learning languages is maybe 10 percent of what we do.

You also see an empty can of beans and potato peels. I eat more frugally than a medieval farmer. But I don’t have nearly the calorie expenditure of a medieval farmer either.

A small bonus is that the money I don’t spend on culinary novelty for myself I get to spend on Bruno. This is a very real calculation I make. I often buy quality food for him that I don’t even taste a morsel of. And that’s entirely my choice and am perfectly fine like that. It makes NO difference whatsoever, but I also like that am not seeking culinary highs while so many people are food insecure. And the most honest conclusion is probably that I happen to find cheap food more satisfying than anything fancy. So it’s really less a moral thing and more a story of having primitive taste buds. Combined with: the less I spend on me, the less I am obliged to rent out my life energy to people I harbour mild contempt for. I’ve been able to limit this to a a few hours a week maximum now. Am repeating myself, but low curiosity, not treating life as something inherently sacred, intolerance, virtue signalling and lack of empathy for the suffering will land you on my contempt list. The list is so long that if I am being consistent I have to feel contempt for myself for being so intolerant.

You also see a book I gave and a book I received yesterday. A most excellent trade. Maybe a sign of a new dawn, cause I tend to overgive.

So if these are field notes in a military Custeristic campaign, there should be an enemy.

I suppose I treat the IDF as the most perfect symbol of that enemy. The IDF has everything I hate. People who almost certainly had every opportunity to choose to do good in the world, often ‘to the manor born’ and then they feel proud ‘fighting’ a vastly outgunned enemy on a budget a tiny fraction of theirs. There’s already no honor whatsoever in that. And they can’t even win. And they can’t even play fair. And if the big American tits get tucked away in a steel bra even for a week Hamas would occupy the Knesset with two Toyota pick-up trucks two weeks later. Add settler terrorism. Add perpetual sadism towards anyone defenseless. Add endless cringe lies. Add their flashy modern day cappuchinno sipping life-style in Tel Aviv. Rip a kid apart on Monday, force a terrified teenage girl into fellatio in front of her parents, make fun of an emaciated baby on Wednesday, do similar demonic stuff the other week days, go clubbing on Friday night and scroll your festival music playlist in the gym on Sunday. It’s the perfect ‘make William hate my guts with religious fervor’ formula ever made.

But hey, hating is like drinking poison hoping someone else to die.

The best revenge on the IDF is to have a succesful life. More success is more impact, and that impact can be used to help the Palestinians. Apart from ranting online and creating books that I suppose I will be lucky if 100 people by and visit Palestinian ambassadors, attending protests, ditching pro-ISraeli friends, even very good ones. It’s something, but not more than drops on a hot plate. Tiny drops that, ironically, do cost me a lot personally. I did lose one of the best friends I have ever had over Israel.

Instead of quacking like an ADHD duck that’s chewed on a stash of meth I should devote a post purely to that: how much it frigging hurts, still, to have cut a great friend out of my life because no matter how good he always was to me, no matter how much we laughed, no matter how much I enjoyed his company, no matter how much I was willing to do for him, no matter how apart from Bruno his company was the closest I have felt to happiness these past few years, I could not tolerate someone in my life who fell in love with a genocidal state.

That’s when even one other friend – I seem to have more friends than I realize – said:

‘Dude, you took it too far. I would not cut a friend out of my life over that.’

I’d analyze this further, but I will only say this:

I honestly don’t know what to make of my decision in this case. Is it radical, fanatical, morally right, self-sabotaging, arrogant, stupid, is it displaced fury (I can’t directly hurt IDF soldiers, but I could try to hurt this friend who dates IDF soldiers).

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am mourning a very deep friendship that would have kept giving me a lot, if only Israel hadn’t triggered every single moral fiber in my system.

It’s stupidly self-sabotaging and nobody was helped by this, but it sure was one of the truest, undiluted William things I have ever done.

I warmly invite you to judge or ask questions.

Talk to you later.